Whale Fall

Washed ashore,
iron lung collapses.
What waste,
they say,
the masses.

Stifled out of water,
broad, stiff board
bleaching,
then a week
releasing gases

append a relief valve
to the beaching’s scalp,
two taps with
electric clamps,
coughing

brittle drums
crackle,
their metallic rattle
whistling away
the children’s sandcastles

the first omen of
a bound explosion, then
falls the rain,
utter rain
in strips of jerky

attracting gulls,
but no attorneys, but
gawking crowds.
Safe harbour
shelters the macabre

if further out
in deep waters,
its tooth gap
would feed
all desires,

nurture
an ecosystem
with its great fat
tit.
That would do it.

But here,
it's litter—
a salty 
giant raisin
blown apart.

The whale
did not fall, but
stranded.
Now
soon to be

abandoned.